No one wins

The dispatch is for an unknown medical aid.

I press the button for the rickety elevator, wondering how long the trip up to the fifth floor will be.

"Mid 40s female...overdose," the Fireman says.

I pause

"Early 60s male, respiratory issues," is my reply.

"Lunch and dinner?" He asks, hand outstretched.
"Lunch and dinner," and we shake hands as the elevator opens and we pile in.
The ride is shorter than we expected, and we made it all the way up.

As the door rumbles open there is a distinct odor of urine and an open door just down the hall.
"In here!" a tired male voice calls. I turn to enter the little room and see, on the bed, a man in his 60s having trouble breathing, holding onto a woman in her 40s with an altered mental status.

"Well that was anti-climactic" the boss says and we go to work.

Later that night we bought each other's meals just to keep the spirit of the game going.